


It's all coming back to me (How I loved you from the start)

by TerresDeBrume



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: All these are mentionned with more or less graphic descriptions, Angst, Background Character Death, Child Murder, F/M, Frigga is so not off the hook, M/M, Madness, Odin is a dick, Prompt Fic, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:58:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There were days when the sun was so cruel that my tears turned to dust and I knew my eyes were drying up forever</i>
</p><p>Loki is taken back to Asgard for his punishment, of which Thor has to be a witness. Shocked and disgusted by the way his brother is treated, he decides to break him out of his cell and bring him to Midgard, hoping to stay by his side as Loki heals.</p><p>Destiny, however, has other plans, and things take a vastly different turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The strangest of chorus

**Author's Note:**

> So there was a prompt over at Tumblr that asked for Thor being angsty over Loki being tortured.
> 
> My brain took it, ran with it, and now there is about a quarter of my notebook filled with the result. Nonnie, if you read this, I love you, and I hope you'll like it! : )

**{One month before}**

He wakes up with screams of pain in his ears and the choking smell of blood in his nose, eyelids burning with the memory of a gaunt face and green eyes staring at the ceiling with a look of pure, mad terror.

 

Loki is mad.

At least, this is what Odin said. Frigga believed, and Sif believed, and Asgard believed, so Thor believed, too. For a while. But then, he remembers how it was. He remembers Loki, pale and exhausted but still _Loki_ as he waited in his cell for his sentence to be decided. He remembers the resentful glare in his brother’s eyes when he was dragged to the punishment chambers, gagged and manacled like a dangerous beast. Loki wasn’t mad, then. He wasn’t mad when he was dragged to a room Thor knew well –Loki always got into trouble, and Thor had to get him back to his chambers from a flogging more than once.

 

Loki wasn’t mad.

Not until he recognized the paler patch on the black wolf pelt, next to the left ear, and then the shape of a great serpent tied to the ceiling, fangs dripping with poison while its eyes cried tears of blood. Loki only truly went mad then, not with the prospect of his punishment –one hundred days and one hundred nights with his eyes under the steady drip of corrosive substance coming from Jörmungandr’s mouth- but mad with the pain of seeing two of his children used as tools in the orchestration of his sufferings.

Thor remembers the shock he felt as he realized what had been done, the disgust the rushed in him at his father’s actions. This was no way to treat a son, a brother; a father. Not even a mad and criminal one. Surely, neither of Loki’s sons could be held responsible for their father’s actions. Surely, this was a nightmare.

 

Surely it would stop.

 

It didn’t.

Thor shivers and gags helplessly when he remembers the disbelieving whimper that escaped from Loki’s mouth as he was shackled to the rock, the way his body trembled and struggled against his bond, as if the contact of fur against his back would make everything real.

But there were several guards, too many even for Thor to overthrow, and all he could do was kneel beside his brother and whisper:

 

“I am sorry. I never knew he intended this… I will find a way to get you out Loki, I promise.”

 

But by that point, it was already too late to save Loki’s mind.

 

{ooo}

 

Thor tells Sif and the Warrior Three about Loki’s predicament.

He tells them in simple terms, trying to keep emotions off his face, but it is soon evident that he is not as good an actor as his brother, for even Hogun looks concerned for him. As much as Hogun can look anything but grim, that is.

They talk, and talk, and talk; over and over in the dead of night, in deserted corridors, in Thor’s apartments, at the baths. They review every single details, every single plan they can come up with, every option they have, and inevitably they come crashing back against the same conclusion: there is nothing that the five of them can do.

Thor wonders if the sea feels as discouraged as he does. He doesn’t say it, and neither do his friends, but they are all thinking the same thing.

 

If Loki were with them, they would have found –or created- a solution a long time ago.

 

**{Three days before}**

 

They decide to seek the Norns only when there is nothing else left that they can think of.

The five of them have made it a habit to defy their fates, often helped in their endeavor by Loki, and they fear the price that may be asked of them or of Loki. Still, it appears now that they will never be able to succeed without the help of destiny.

They pretend that they are going to Alfheim, in order to visit Fandral’s family. They know Heimdall is watching them, but even he can’t see inside the sacred tree where they are welcomed, and it is easy to reach the Norns from there.

 

“Thor Odinson,” the Norns say in unison when their visitors land. “Long you have gone against our word, and now you seek our authority.”

“Aye,” Thor admits, “but I did not come to beg for forgiveness. I know there is a price for my arrogance toward you, and I will pay it. I only ask that I am allowed to take my brother out of his prison first.”

“You have never thought to do so before,” says the woman on the left. “Nor have your friends. Why this change of heart?”

“He believes Loki’s punishment is unfair,” the middle one says.

“He hopes to be forgiven,” the one from the right concludes.

 

They are tall and powerful, the three of them.

The one on the left, who was old when they entered, is losing wrinkles as her skin and flesh become firmer, healthier. The one on the right looked young when they came in, fresh like dew and soft as good bread, but she is ageing now, and Thor sees her skin start to pale with years. But it is, Thor knows, the one in the middle who holds his fate in her hand. She is growing neither old nor young, but her skin, her eyes, her hair, her features: everything in her is constantly changing, as though she were trying to be all the women of the world at a time.

Together, Thor knows, they have knowledge of past, present and future, and they control the destiny of each person living in the galaxy.

 

“I hope, yes,” he says, “but I do not demand. Anymore,” he adds after a bit. “Not this, at the least.”

 

For a long, long time, the Norns stay silent.

Thor feels the weight of their gaze on his shoulders, hears his heart beating, guesses the nerves of his companions. It feels like as though a full eternity passes before the one on the right speaks again:

 

“Loki’s children were killed,” she says. “As a punishment for their father’s crime.”

“Loki is mad,” the middle one continues, “his spirit shattered beyond any hope of natural healing.

“Odin will not free him,” the last one concludes. “Not of his own accord.”

“Which is why I need to do it,” Thor says, and even he has to flinch when the three of them glare at him. Still, he goes on: “I know that I still have a lot of things to learn,” Thor says, remembering how quickly he dismissed his bond with Loki, back when he first met Natasha Romanov and the other Avengers. “But I know, at least, that Loki’s sons had nothing to do with their father’s crimes, and they should not have been punished for it. I am merely hoping that by helping their father, I can make some sort of penance for their suffering.”

“You have done much wrong in your life, Thunderer, and so has the Liesmith,” says the Norn who gets younger. “The fact that your actions were perpetrated on a smaller scale doesn’t make them any less significant.”

“There is no way for you to succeed without our help,” the one in the middle points out. “And although your friends are willing to follow you in your quest, as they have ever done, it is you, and you alone who wish to atone for your past mistakes.”

“Thus,” the third one announces, “it is you alone who shall pay the price of your success.”

“Step forth, Mighty Thor the Thunderer, favored son of Odin,” the three of them say.

 

Thor, who has never lowered his gaze for anyone save the Allfather, takes three steps forward, and kneels to the ground, ready to accept whatever price he is asked to pay. He thinks, briefly, that all this had better prove to be helpful in the end, and then the three Norns have their hands on his head, and they speak together again:

 

“For the arrogance you have showed in the past, we take from you your might. From this day forward, you will be a man, until such time as you are truly worthy of the full power of Mjölnir.”

 

Thor’s throat clenches as he feels the hammer grow heavy by his side, dragging him to the ground until he has to cut his belt to free himself. A beam of white light wraps around the hammer, and then shoots through the sky in a perfect arc.

Thor swallows.

When he told the Hawk’s eye of the circumstances of his exile around their shared shawarma, the archer had remarked that his change of heart had been a lucky timing, a breath away from death. “Either that, or your Dad decided to take some precautions, in case you had an accident.” At the time, Thor didn’t put any weight to these words, choosing to believe that he was really worthy of his mystical weapon.

 

Now he isn’t so sure.

 

“For the risk you have contributed to bring over Asgard,” the Norns continue, “And the wrongs you have done to a man you called family, we decree that neither you, nor those who wish to help you, shall ever set foot in your father’s kingdom again.”

 

Behind him, Thor hears Sif and Volstagg gasp, while Fandral bites on a curse. He closes his eyes against the white thread swirling around his head, and he swallows again, not daring to bow his head for fear of offending the Norns.

He wishes he’d put a stop to this situation before the price got so high.

 

“For the wrong Odin has done his grandsons,” the Norns go on as another thread of light curls around Thor, “we grant freedom to all of Loki’s children. The remains of his other sons shall be his, and he will dispose of them as he sees fit.” Thor sighs. It is not much, for Sleipnir Hela and the twins are no real prisoners in Asgard or Helheim, but it is better than nothing. “For the lives he has taken, on earth, we declare Loki’s price paid, and absolve him of any kind of sentence.”

 

A third ray of light curls around him, blinding him even through his closed eyelids, and Thor has to restrain himself from putting his hands over his eyes. He feels like he is supposed to feel pained, to feel blinded. He wonders why it is exactly, but he swore not to go against his destiny again, and he doesn’t intend to break that promise.

Not now that he knows he wouldn’t survive it anyway.

 

“The price for Loki’s sanity,” the Norns declare, “will be his voice. Nevermore shall Loki speak again.”

 

Thor squeezes his eyelids closer together, tries to will the pain of the too-bright light away, but he can’t. It burns and burns and burns, until he feels like his eyes and his mouth and his hands are on fire, flaming with the power of the Norns as their magic works its way through him, burn him from the inside.

 

“As price of his freedom,” they say, “We will take everything he ever was. Only once he sheds the remnants of himself can Loki the sorcerer be free again.”

 

Thor hears someone scream, far away, the raw sound of a pain too great to imagine, the scream of someone swallowed whole by a star, and his head hurts, his heart hurts, his eyes are on fire and his mouth is full of blood and light as the voices of the Norns echo around him, louder and more numerous every instant, until even that is painful.

 

“The Norns have spoken. Let the law be our word, and our word be the law.”

 

Everything goes black.

 

**{The day before}**

 

It takes him a moment to understand that the scream spreading terror over his dreams is his own.

It rings in his eyes and in his hands, big and burning hot, and the light is too loud, the sounds too bitter. The blood in his mouth tastes black.

 

He thinks he’s going mad.

 

{ooo}

 

Odin is furious.

He paces the hall in great strides and roars a lot, not always in articulate phrases. Thor doesn’t mind. He knows his father has a tendency to revert to animal screaming when his rage becomes too big for words.

He’d like it if it could feel less painful to hear, though.

 

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” He demands when Thor finally raises his eyes, and Thor is surprised to remember –and agree with- something Loki once said about his one-eyed glare: it’s too loud. Loud like the angry scream of a whole universe, and Thor feels his brow scrunch up.

“Calm down, husband!” Frigga says. “Can you not see that he is still unwell? Look at his eyes! They are still filled with the Norns’ magic.”

“THIS IS EXACTLY WHY I DON’T WANT TO CALM DOWN! WHAT WAS HE THINKING, GOING TO BARGAIN WITH THE BLASTED WOMEN LIKE A HALFWIT?”

“Loki,” Thor mutters. And then, because it makes something in him feel happy to hear it, he repeats: “Loki. Loki, Loki, Loki, Loki, Loki, Loki, Lokilokilokilokilokilokilokilokiloki—”

“ **OUT OF MY SIGHT!** ” Odin storms, his voice like a warhammer’s blow against Thor’s head “ **TAKE HIM TO HIS CHAMBERS NOW, LET HIM THINK ABOUT THE FOLLY OF HIS ACTIONS!** ”

“Loki,” Thor says, “Lo _ki_ , _Lo_ ki, L _o_ ki, Lok _i_ , _Looooo_ ki!”

“ARE YOU MAD?” Frigga screams, and her voice is painful to hear, too, makes Thor’s skin crawl like a knife against porcelain. “CAN YOU NOT SEE HE NEEDS A HEALER? CAN YOU NOT SEE THE SPELL THEY PUT ON HIM IS BREAKING HIS MIND?”

“Loki!” Thor protests as guards seize him by the armpits and drag him toward his apartments. “Loki, Loki, Loki!”

“ **BE SILENT WOMAN! TAKE HIM TO HIS CHAMBERS, MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T GET OUT!”**

“ _L-o-k-i,”_ Thor says. _“L-o-k-i.”_

 

The doors shut in a bright burst of green and golden lights.

 

**{That Day}**

 

“Thor,” Sif says when she comes in the room, “Quick, we don’t have much time. The guards are required to go with your father for the banquet but they will be back shortly!”

“Loki,” Thor says, “Loki!”

“By the tree,” Volstagg says from the doorway, “what have they done to him?”

“He’s mad,” Hogun says, and Sif silences him with a glare.

“Come on, Thor, you need to come with us!”

“ _Loki_?” Thor asks, and it’s Fandral who nods:

“Yes, we’re going to see Loki,” he says. “But we mustn’t be seen.”

 

Thor nods, and the lights tingle as they come out of his fingers, wrap him and his friends in fluffy threads of gold and green which tickle him until he giggles. The void where Sif and Fandral were is almost quiet enough that Thor can forget it entirely, but not quite.

 

“How in the Tree’s name…?” Hogun asks, grim as ever, and Fandral’s voice smells of honey when he answers:

“Loki’s magic. I’ve seen it before, back on Alfheim. Thor wasn’t born with it and he can’t contain it. It’s the magic who controls him, not the other way around, and it wants to go back to its bearer. That’s why he’s only able to say his name. We have to get it out of him before it takes over and he becomes truly mad.”

 

They are walking in the corridor now, the quiet shade of golden tasting of citrus and pineapple, and Thor lets the tingling lights guide them –or him, maybe, he has no idea who is with him and who isn’t.

 

“Loki,” he mutters under his breath, and the name tastes bitter and sweet at the same time, fills his nostrils with the smell of cotton candy and rotten flesh, blinds his eyes in blue and green and black, black, black. “ _Lo_ ki, Lo _ki_.”

 

{ooo}

 

The smell of blood tears at his chest, rips his arms apart, and he screams with pain when he steps in the cell.

The executioners look up from where they were making sure Loki’s bonds were tight enough, but Loki doesn’t see this: he continues to scream, and scream and scream, filling Thor’s mouth with the taste of bile and ice and fire, and his eyes with the red of blood freshly spilled on rough stone walls.

Someone shouts. There are other guards, running in from the banquet hall, but he ignores them and follows the tingly lights to the emaciated figure tied to the rock in the middle of the room. Its muscles are taught, pulling against its bonds, and Thor hesitates for a moment, until the light seizes him, and he grabs the figure’s wrists.

 

There’s still screaming in his hears, the same sound he heard when he went to see the Norns, and it feels like something is uprooted from his souls, torn out with the force of a thousand giants as threads of white, green and gold curl around the figure –Loki- and engulf him in an ocean of colors he has never seen before, too bright and too intense for his eyes.

He screws them shut.

 

There is a great scream, several voices joining to produce it, and Thor cracks an eyelid open to peer at the torture chamber, where men are being literally crushed to death under the green and golden rays of Loki’s magic, wild with a pain that isn’t purely physical. He screams and screams and screams, and Thor sees his hand shine white again, rise from his side and grab at Loki’s throat as if to crush it –but it is too weak now, to do any damage. Even so, Loki’s voice vanishes, even as he continues screaming, and his magic stops shooting at random.

His shackles are broken, his muzzle shattered to the ground, and he wears nothing, save Fenrir’s fur wrapped around him like a cloak, and Jormungandr’s skin hanging over his shoulders like meters of fabric smooth as silk, black as leather and solid as diamond. His son’s fangs are in his hands, all the six of them dripping with poison.

 

Thor watches him stumble, sway on his feet, but still walk on, the ashen blue of his skin a sharp contrast to the bloody red of his eyes, highlighted by the festering scars marring his face. Loki’s arms barely look wider than his wrists, yet he doesn’t seem to have any difficulty to hold the last guard down and force him to swallow a drop of Jormungandr’s venom.

Thor stumbles at the same time as Loki does, and it is Volstagg who ends up carrying him while Fandral swings Loki over his shoulders, and they run to the bifrost.

 

Thor sees Heimdall, blasted against the wall by a bright green flash of light.

 

Then he sees no more.

 

**{Three days after}**

 

He is woken up by the memory of a building trembling with the force of Loki’s despair, the sound of a disbelieving whimper still lingering in his ears as he finds his arms too weak to support him.

 

“Don’t move,” Jane says. “You’re heavily dehydrated, underfed, and you’ve broken a lot of bones.”

 

She looks the same as ever, petite and mouse-like in an adorable way, her chestnut hair tied down in a low ponytail and her flannel shirt rumpled from a sleepless night. Her face looks tired, her eyes haunted, and Thor wants to ask about Loki, but then a vase explodes on the bedside table and she lets out a short scream as she ducks for cover. Thor, who didn’t move, feels a sharp pain in his right arm, where he discovers a piece of porcelain embedded deep in the flesh of his biceps.

His skin looks paler, duller now, and Thor’s throat clenches when the disinfectant Jane applies to his cut muscles stings. She is dressing the wound when the door opens and the Man of Iron strides up to Thor, before sending him reeling back with a vicious punch to the nose.

 

“What the hell?” Jane swears, but Stark ignores her.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HIM? WHAT HAVE YOU BARBARIANS DONE? IS THAT HOW YOU TREAT YOUR CRIMINALS IN YOUR SO CALLED ADVANCED CIVILIZATION?”

“Stark! Stark calm down!” The Captain of America says from behind the shorter man. “Tony!”

“FUCK OFF!” The other says, punching his coworker’s hand away from him. “I’M NOT GOING TO CALM DOWN UNTIL HE TELLS ME WHAT THOSE BASTARDS DID TO HIM BECAUSE _I DO NOT CALL THAT **JUSTICE**_!”

“Look, Tony, I know it’s torture,” the Captain concedes, “but Thor is weak and….”

“DO YOU _REALLY_ THINK I CARE?” Stark roars, voice hoarse from the strain as the Bannerman walks in, “DO YOU THINK I GIVE ONE FLYING FUCK THAT HE NEEDS HIS BEAUTY SLEEP? HE’S A MORTAL NOW? WELL GOOD! THAT MEANS I WON’T NEED TO SUIT UP TO BASH HIS HEAD IN—NO ROGERS, _FUCK OFF_! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!”

“Tony….”

“THIS IS _TORTURE_ , ROGERS! THIS IS PURE, UNADULTERATED TORTURE, AND CHILDREN’S MURDER TO BOOT! _YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TORTURE IS_! YOU DON’T _KNOW, **I DO! AND I AM TELLING YOU, HE HAS UNTIL MIDNIGHT TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GOING TO THROW HIM OUT WITH A CROWBAR!**_ ”

 

Thor takes in the Captain’s face as those words, as though he’d been slapped in the face with something powerful enough to send him reeling back –Thor is careful not to think about hammers. He looks to Jane, who is staring at the Man of Iron as if it were the first time she saw him –which it might well be, Thor supposes- and then to the Bannerman, who is talking in the Man of Iron’s ear and rubbing circle into his back.

He raises his head when he feels the weight of a gaze on him, and his face hardens in a blank, blank mask, cold and more impenetrable than the vaults of Asgard –after all, _they_ have been broken into, but Thor is pretty certain nobody ever broke through the Bannerman’s metaphorical armor.

It reminds Thor of Loki’s face in the days after his children were sent away.

 

The Captain of America brings a hand close to the Man of Iron’s chest, and the latter drives his knee between his legs. It isn’t enough to defeat him, but he still bends as though curling around a child’s punch to the stomach, his face a personification of shock and disbelief. He reaches out again, but this time it is the Bannerman’s hand that stops him, and shakes him away.

 

“I am seconds away from getting the other guy into this,” he says in an emotionless tone. “Trust me _Captain_ , don’t.”

“I want you out,” Stark spits in Thor’s direction. “I want you out _for good_ , and I don’t give a fuck that your hammer is in my garden, if you put one tow on my property again, you’re not going to like what happens next.”

“Tony, calm down,” Rogers said, “look, I understand it’s hard for you but….”

“No you don’t,” the Bannerman says. “You really don’t.”

“I want you out too Rogers. You, and anyone who want to try and defend Asgard or any of their friends, you hear me? **_OUT_**.”

“Tony please don’t make me get my shield.”

“ _My_ shield, Rogers, not yours!” The man of Iron spits out. “It was a loan, made by a Stark and owned by a Stark to this day _don’t make me take it back because I swear I will!_ Now _get the fuck out of here_ and I am _warning you_ very formally, if S.H.I.E.L.D. tries _anything_ against Loki, _anything_ , I am going to make their lives a _bloody **nightmare**._ ”

 

He sounds so much like Loki then, so absorbed in his pain, that Thor knows not to insist. He puts a hand on the Captain’s shoulder, and shakes his head.

Better leave now, and work toward their future return.

 

{ooo}

 

“He was right to throw me out,” Thor says when Jane’s S.H.I.E.L.D-financed van drives past the Stark tower’s gates. “I should never have let that happen.”

“You didn’t know,” the Captain says from behind. “Tony’s reaction was exaggerated. If he’d been rational he….”

“He can’t be rational about this,” Jane says. “Have you seen his eyes? I’m not that kind of doctor but I don’t need to be in order to see he probably has severe PTSD.”

“PTSD?” Thor repeats, confused.

 

His head feels muddy and his limbs are still weak, but he is willing to bet it is even worse for Loki. He doesn’t allow himself to complain.

 

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Jane explains –in the backseat, the Captain of America leans forward to listen to what she has to say. “When someone goes through someone really, really hard, they can’t just… shake it off. It stays with them, and when they’re reminded of it, it triggers reactions of defense against a danger that isn’t here anymore –or, well, sometimes it is. The point is, it doesn’t matter what you, or Steve or I could have said, Stark wouldn’t have listened to us. He was tortured, too. Throwing us out is the only way he found to protect himself from the memories we reminded him of.”

“I see,” The Captain says, and he leans back into the seat, but Thor knows better than to relax yet.

 

He has lost enough sleep over Loki’s predicament not to expect to be let off the hook so easily.

 

“That being said,” Jane continues when they reach a stoplight, her gaze fixed straight ahead, “I have to agree with him on the so-called advanced society thing. No, listen,” she says when Thor tries to speak, “I don’t care what your level of technology is. You could bring me the secret of time-travel or eternal life right now and it still wouldn’t change my mind. Torture is _wrong_ , Thor,” she says firmly. “No matter what crime someone committed, you _don’t_ use torture as a punishment. And to know that your father was the one who ordered that it…” she looks like she is about to vomit for a moment, pale and greenish around the edge, her eyes wide and her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Please don’t ever introduce me to him.”

 

Thor nods sadly.

He doesn’t mention that he couldn’t do it now, not even if he would. He wonders what Odin is doing at this moment. Is he in the throne room, berating his oldest son? Has he gone into the Odinsleep again, like he did when Loki turned against him in the vaults? Is he mourning?

 

And if he is, how many sons does he mourn for?

 

**{Five days after}**

 

“So they all died,” Thor sighs, and he tries to ignore the way Jane pales at his words. She has taken some time off her work to help him get better acquainted with mortal life, help him settle in for a long stay.

“Yes,” Sif says. “All the guards who ever set foot in his cell.”

“You were unconscious at the moment,” Fandral adds, “but the halls were littered with corpses. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many of them. Not wearing allies’ garbs, at any rate.”

“Your father was hit, too,” Volstagg says.

“By Loki’s magic?” Thor asks. “Is he…?”

“No,” Hogun says. “So far as we know.”

“I don’t think even Loki’s magic could have had that effect,” Sif says.

 

She doesn’t say it, but Thor hears the ‘not that fast’ part loud and clear.

 

**{A month after}**

 

Jane says he should feel grateful it even took the press so long to find out.

She says Stark probably used –and still uses- his influence and his money to keep people out of his tower. They don’t really have any contact with him anymore. Sometimes, Clint Barton passes by Ginnungagap, the café where Thor works.

Yes, he works now. He still has trouble figuring out the coffee machine most of the time, but the girl he works with, Sara, helps him when he is stuck. He’s good with the clients anyways. They constantly try to remember where they’ve seen him –he prays they never do. One of them almost did last week, citing ‘that guy in the red cape’ but his companion said ‘don’t be ridiculous, why would a god work in a café?’ and they left it at that. Thor doesn’t want to be recognized. He doesn’t want to be asked questions about what goes on when he knows so little about it himself.

 

Steve Rogers still works with S.H.I.E.L.D. and so do Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton. The son of Coul gives Thor word of Loki’s health, when he can. Still, most of the information he gets comes from the Hawk’s eye.

He learns that Loki has opened his eyes. He refuses to let anyone into his room. It’s the Man of Iron’s robots that feed him and change him when he is awake. When he is not, Stark and the Bannerman proceed with caution –Natasha Romanov was hit by a magic blast, Barton says. She did not like the effects of it.

 

Thor usually wakes up three or four times per night, sweaty and shivering with terror and the urge to vomit memories he can’t get rid of. Jane does what she can –she gives him cold towels and rubs circles into his back. She suggests he should ‘see someone’, and once he understands what she is talking about, he sighs.

What use would there be in such things? How could a mortal, even a trained one, understand the mind of an Asgardian? Of an _Aesir_? How could they ever comprehend the scale of what Thor has seen, of what he has done? They would be lost. Lost in a mind with too much in it for any mortal to understand, despite the lack of magic in his blood.

 

“He’s still you brother,” Jane says when Thor tells her why he doesn’t want to heed her word. “It doesn’t matter how long you two have lived, it’s still a family story.”

 

But Thor still refuses.

He listens when Barton tells him Loki has yet to be awake for more than an hour at a time, and when he does, things keep exploding at random. Last week, there was footage of all the windows of the Stark tower exploding at once, and the cleanup is still not finished.

Thor sees Pepper Potts on the television a lot. She tries to explain Stark’s absence with words that don’t sound like ‘he’s taking care of the man who tried to destroy our world two months ago’ but it is still what she is saying.

The press stopped bothering doctor Banner when a television crew was asked to ‘please don’t make me bring the other guy into this’.


	2. Smile for the camera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor is convinced he's going to go back to his normal state. After all, it worked out okay the first time around, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to my beta Jessy, who pointed out all my accidental french grammar and provided helpful advice... some peeps didn't quite make the cut, but meh. At least you have Joey?
> 
> Thanks a lot to all of you who read the first chapter and commented or left kudos as well! Feedback keeps me alive <3

**{Three months after}**

 

A magazine manages to acquire and leak out images of Loki.

 

They are blurry and taken from far away, but still can’t hide the skeletal look of his silhouette, the grey hue of his blue skin, the scars -old and new- that mar his back, his arms, his face. Loki looks like the veteran of a thousand wars, tired and feeble as he sits on the landing-pad-turned-garden of Stark’s tower. Thor is at work at the coffeeshop, and he can feel the customers’ glare (he should be preparing coffees right now), yet he can’t tear his eyes away from the screen, can’t look away from the small, uncaring ball his brother makes, huddled up in a chair with Fenrir’s pelt around his shoulders and Jörmungandr’s fangs at his feet.

Thor knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that this image, too, will stay in his nightmares. He knows he will not forget the sight of Loki’s face, blank as porcelain as he sits in a form he used to abhor, in plain view of a world he disdains. He knows this, and he dreads going to sleep tonight, but his eyes remain glued to the TV screen until a man calls him over –rather angrily- for his coffee.

 

“Leave him alone,” a regular whispers to the man, “He’s in shock.”

“In shock? C’mon, the guy tried to kill us all less than a year ago!” The man says. “He gets what he asked for.”

“Yeah,” the first one shrugs, clearly not wanting to start a fight. “But I still wouldn’t like to be in his shoes.” She looks at Thor briefly, before she adds: “Or in his brother’s.”

 

The man at the other end of the counter scoffs, but he doesn’t answer, and their conversation ends there. Still, Thor keeps thinking about it. He appreciate the effort to defend him, and the decision to protect what has become his ‘secret identity’ –he is Chris now, and the girl at the counter has chosen not to spread the word, even though she clearly knows who he was.

But despite that, he wonders. Yes, his position is difficult. Yes, he suffers for Loki, and he longs for the weight of Mjölnir by his side, but overall, he supposes things could –should?- be a lot, lot worse.

 

He wonders if they will be.

 

{ooo}

 

Sif and the Warrior Three end up working as… Thor doesn’t know what their status is, exactly. He knows they patrol with the NYPD in dangerous zones of the city, but they aren’t a part of it, not really.

They come to see him often. They talk of various things, being careful to avoid the subject of Asgard or Thor’s powers. It is not something they feel like they can discuss without risking their friendship over matters none of them has the power to influence. Incidentally, this accidental status-quo brings them to discuss the other realms more and more.

 

“My parents wish me to return to Alfheim,” Fandral admits at some point. “They believe it is high time I took my responsibility as their heir.” He sighs then, loudly, and Thor gives him a sad smile.

“Do not ignore their lessons, friend,” he says. “They may help you to avaoid a predicament such as mine.”

“I know,” Fandral says. “Which is why I considered acquiescing. I thought of taking Hogun with me, too. We are still in ill terms with Svartalfheim, and I thought maybe having one of their people as my… personal guard –would that suit you?” Hogun shrugs, and Fandral echoes the gesture before he continues: “As my personal guard, then. I thought it could help appease the tensions, and prove that our people aren’t really incompatible.”

 

Fandral finishes his sentence in a mumble and lets his eyes wander away from Thor’s, as if ashamed. Thor feels sad, yes. He is, however, surprised to find that he does not begrudge Fandral. Midgard, he has learned, can be dull, when you are a stranded Aesir. In Asgard, the five of them could find some form of challenge, such as beast worthy of their skills and spaces that were able to hold their sparring without crumbling to the ground. And even in the rare occasions when Asgard became too slow, too safe for them, they would go out in the vast world of Vanaheim, and hunt whatever beast they could find, complete whatever quest presented itself.

Not a day passes when Thor doesn’t remember his life before Loki rebelled and mourns for it, for all that he has lost –a home, a life, a place- and all that he never had –true understanding of his brother, mostly.

 

“I understand,” he says quietly, as he rises to go back to work. “Worry not, my friend, I do not resent your decision. I only wish for you to be fine, and if you think you would be better off in your home world than in Midgard, I will not stand in the way.”

“I still have time to consider this,” Fandral says. “I will not make a decision tonight.

 

Thor smiles, grateful, because it is plain to see he is the main reason for Fandral’s stalling, and he knows that his friend will not remain here very long. Thor wonders when Volstagg and Sif will chose to leave, and where they will go.

Volstagg, Thor knows, has family in Nidavellir: he could very well go and visit them if he wanted. As for Sif, although she is a true native of Vanaheim and Asgard, well. Nothing ties her to earth. She could go with Fandral in Alfheim, or even go to Svartalfheim, where Hogun’s family would be delighted to welcome her –there at least, there would be no risk for her to fight with Fandral. Still, neither she nor Volstagg make any mention of leaving yet, and Thor feels grateful for that.

 

As much as he loves Jane, he needs his friends by his side, too. It would be too much otherwise.

Sure, he has people who like and help him here. There are coworkers and regulars, neighbors and random joggers who salute him when he opens the shop in the morning. Thor, it is true, isn’t without support in the mortal world, but he can’t resolve himself to abandon his old friends.

This is, he is sure, a temporary stage. Soon, he believes, he will make himself worthy of Mjölnir again, and then he won’t even need to go to Tony Stark’s property to retrieve it and be given his powers back.

 

He can do anything, he knows, so long as he has Mjölnir on his belt. He will not have to play this game for long.

 

He waits.

 

{ooo}

 

He wakes with sweat on his brow and his brother’s name on his lips, his arms aching with the pull of ropes and coarse fur rubbing against his sweating back. Jane tries to comfort him when she can, wipes the sweat from his brow when he is blinded by green-and-gold light and can do nothing but moan _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ over and over again to a brother who has no wish to hear his voice.

 

He cries.

 

**{Six months after}**

 

Tony Stark works his way back into the Avengers.

Gradually, the public begins to seem him more and more among the other superheroes and Thor rejoices alongside everyone else, but for different reasons. If Tony Stark leaves his tower, it means Loki is doing better. Well enough to be left alone for short periods of time. He watches the press footage, and the occasional new report whenever enough people start claiming that someone has managed to pick Mjölnir up –it’s always a hoax, Thor knows it, but he can’t help feeling sick every time the title comes up on the screen suspended above his head.

Sometimes, he wishes he could smash it.

 

The nightmares keep coming.

 

{ooo}

 

Thor and Jane have a small apartment above the coffee shop, which Jane doesn’t use very often, seeing as she spends a lot of time in her labs. (It used not to bother Thor when he was as busy as she is, but he misses her now, and it’s not like he can fly to New Mexico to surprise her anymore.) In the morning, he rises early and takes his sweet time getting ready, a stark contrast to the days of his youth, when he would wait until the last possible minute to bolt out of bed and rush to make himself presentable.

On one bad morning –broken comb, recalcitrant coffee machine, unshaved jaw- Thor see the son of Coul and Maria of the Hill stride into the shop and order a tall black coffee, _no cream, no sugar._ He doesn’t miss the way the agents eye his workspace, as if to say Thor doesn’t belong there.

(They don’t need to. Thor knows.)

 

“Did you want anything else?” Thor asks, and he does his best to mask his disappointment when the female agent says:

“I was just wondering how you were doing.”

“You should worry about Loki, first,” Thor says after a short silence. “How is he?”

“…Better,” the son of Coul admits reluctantly –Thor can’t blame him: he _did_ spend three months on recovery leave because of Loki’s shaft, and then only because Loki wasn’t in his normal state and missed his heart by an inch. “Stark says he’s starting to get out of his room, and dress. Still doesn’t speak though.”

“He won’t,” Thor sighs.

“The doctors say his vocal cords are intact,” Maria assures Thor. “He just needs to….”

“You do not understand, Lady of the Hill,” Thor cuts in. “The Norns have taken his voice. There is no going against that.”

 

Not anymore.

 

{ooo}

 

They get robbed around Christmas.

Thor is in the backroom when the men enter, and he doesn’t notice anything is amiss until he hears a male voice made shrill by nerves urge the new barista to _hurry the fuck up_. He sets down most of the box he was holding, but keeps the pack of coffee he balanced on top –it weights about two kilos, and it might prove useful, who knows.

When he peers through the crack between door and wall, Thor sees two men with hoods and scarves on their faces holding long-bladed knives toward the new boy, a staggering mess of pale skin, turquoise hair and gangly limbs. He is fumbling with the till now, trying to open it without success, and when Thor sees a knife get too close to his throat, his blood boils.

 

“What’s going on?” He asks as he steps in the room, bag of coffee still held in his right hand.

“Shut up!” The man closest to him hisses.

 

He has a high-pitched voice and manicured hands, but the hair peeking out from under his hood is greasy and tangled. Thor towers over him by at least a foot, if not more.

 

“Get the fucking money out already!” The other man says.

 

This one is bigger, and his grip is surer on the handle of his knife, his arm steadier, and his posture is actually likely to do some harm. It’s easy to identify him as the dangerous one, and Thor makes his mind quickly.

The bag of coffee doesn’t have the same equilibrium as Mjölnir –and it feels heavier, too- but at this distance, Thor can’t miss the first man’s face, and he flies backward with a shout of pain and the crack of his nose breaking. Thor pushes the boy –Joey, his nametag says- to the ground, and then jumps over the counter.

He blocks the upward thrust of knife aiming for his gut with a firm arm, and punches his adversary in the face, pouring in all his frustration of the day –the news showed that Loki was out again today, dressed in lose fitting sweatpants and oversized sweatshirts, and the red of it looked so _out of place_ on his blue skin that Thor wanted to scream. _This is not the Loki I remember_ , he wanted to yell at the TV. _This is not my brother_. Under Thor’s fist, the stranger’s cheekbone rattles, then shatter entirely, and Thor is about to land the final blow in order to knock him out when he feels pain searing through his right shoulder.

Truthfully, a downward stab through the shoulder is far from the worse he has sustained, and although he is trapped in a mortal body now, the pain is not intense enough to prevent him from striking. It does, however, surprise him enough that the taller, burlier robber manages to put _his_ knife right through Thor’s stomach, stealing the breath from him.

 

“Loki,” he rasps when the robbers are gone and the pale, blue-haired boy bends over him with a mobile phone in order to tell 911 what happened.

 

_Please bring me Loki._

 

He thinks he sees red tints in Joey’s brown eyes before he faints.

 

{ooo}

 

“—let Darcy taze you!” Jane hisses, trying to keep her voice down through her fear and anger and concern. “What were you _thinking_? You can’t go around fighting men with knives!”

“It didn’t bother you the first time around,” Thor points out quietly –it’s a low blow and he knows it. Jane wasn’t prepared for the Destroyer. She panicked. Everybody did. It doesn’t mean she wasn’t worried.

“The first time around nearly got you _killed_ ,” she reminds him. “I admire your courage, I really do, and I think what you did was very brave, but I also think it was very stupid!”

“I was not going to stand there and watch them leave,” Thor says, tired and low with frustration and anger at himself.

 

How could he be so stupid as to let himself get hurt so badly? How could he be so _weak_ as to let a mere _mortal_ sneak behind him?

 

“You _are_ a mortal!” Jane says, and Thor realizes he must have thought aloud. “You can’t go around and forget that! You’re lucky you got out of this alive as it is!”

 

She looks small now, pleading and begging and worried. Thor thinks the expression is most unbecoming. He likes Jane best when she gets excited about science, cheeks pink with passion, or else when she bickers with Darcy or Eric Selvig on the phone, bouncing ideas and jests with them like a juggler bounces balls and flaming torches. Thor thinks she is at her most beautiful then, hair mussed by a night spent asleep at her desk as she brews her own coffee and looks at him like with a smile as radiant as it is after their coupling, sated and content with the world.

Nowadays, she just looks worried, and he wishes the slant of her brow didn’t remind him so much of Loki, of all the times he ended up in the healing wards with an infected wound because he thought he didn’t need a healer.

 

He wishes he didn’t wonder if Odin was right to call him a foolish and cruel boy. He wishes he could be sure of his own purpose, his own worth. He wishes he could have Loki’s counsel, because even though it often landed him into trouble, they always managed to make him feel better, somehow. Thor knows he is better at making mistakes and dealing with them later on than he is at making the right decisions right away. He wishes it weren’t so, and that he knew how to pick the right pace.

(On the whole, Loki may not be the best person to go to for advice on that, but Thor mostly needs advice on how to deal with Loki, so he supposes it could still work.)

 

He stays in hospital for a month, wishing he weren’t so useless.

 

**{A year after}**

 

Random explosions at the Stark tower become rarer.

Thor can’t feel it anymore, but he knows this mean Loki’s magic is somewhat back under control. He remembers when his brother was growing up, and they would find vases and mirrors shattered, hair changing colors and goats growing to be the size of mules.

(He remembers pretending it was Loki’s gift for his name day, and the disbelieving stare of Odin’s only eye as he allowed him to keep the animals to pull his personal cart. Does anyone take care of them now, or have they been left to starve in the stables, next to Sleipnir’s stall? What happened to his nephew? Sleipnir is supposedly free now. Where is he and what does he do? Has word of his father’s predicament even reached him?

Does he even know Loki is alive?)

 

When Loki was younger and his magic would grow in leaps and bounds, Thor used to feel it tingling his arms and pricking at the back of his neck, like someone breathing over his skin. He remembers the explosions and random weather changes happening around Loki when that happened, and he knows, now, that Loki’s magic is still growing. He watches the news like everybody else, so he hears about the signs, and he tries to tell Stark about it, to save him and the Bannerman some work.

Tony Stark, however, is about as stubborn as Loki can be, and he refuses to hear him out.

 

Thor wishes he could think his reaction is unjustified, but he can’t quite find it in his heart to convince himself.

 

{ooo}

 

He spends less and less time with Jane.

She has her work to worry about, and she isn’t free to come home as much as she would like. When she does, it is Thor who avoids her. It isn’t that he doesn’t hold any affection for her anymore, quite the opposite!

But he can’t look at her face without seeing that of his brother’s. He can’t look at the worry in her eyes and not remember how Loki would look every time he woke up in the healing wards to the sight of his brother watching his face, red, red lips moving in a silent prayer that consisted only of Thor’s name.

 

One night, after he forced himself to stop thinking about Loki and make himself more cheerful, he attempts to take Jane to bed again. She smiles at him then, small and comforting and confident, and for a moment, Thor thinks her eyes have turned the vivid green of magic.

That night, he sleeps on the couch, with his blanket pulled tight about himself and his eyes screwed shut against the memory of a gaze that was the wrong color.

 

{ooo}

 

Steve Rogers comes in on a rainy Monday night, in early April.

He looks tired and out of place, plaid shirt and plainly-cut leather vest amidst hipsters in skinny jeans and long scarves. Thor hasn’t seen him in a year. They have kept contact, though, through letters, mostly. Thor knows Steve has been trying to get himself settled as much as he could, and he knows it didn’t work out as well as the Captain of America had hoped.

Steve, from what his letters said, started out working with S.H.I.E.L.D., but he couldn’t agree with the organization’s methods –he discovered the hard way that protecting the interest of his nation and protecting the people of his nation didn’t _always_ overlap, and couldn’t agree with that, so now he comes in when needed, but keeps his contacts with Nick Fury to the strict minimum. Thor finds it ironic that Steve Rogers and Tony Stark have taken to think so alike but have little to no contact with each other, save for when they meet on the battlefield.

(He mostly longs to join them, but forces himself to ignore the longing, tries to accept that he will never be useful again.)

 

After his fallout with S.H.I.E.L.D, Steve decided to try and make some friends outside of the Avengers. After all, even Thor knew when they parted that it was too early in their history for them to stay in touch, and he wasn’t surprised to learn that Steve Rogers didn’t really speak to the Bannerman or the Hawk’s eye anymore. The Black Widow, he doesn’t know how to analyze. She never talked to him much, but he kind of gets the feeling that most of her affection is hidden, that she doesn’t show much of what she doesn’t want to show –he tries not to think how Loki likes to be in control, too, but he’s not very successful. All in all, Thor kind of expected them all to remain a sum of units rather than a team. It did, after all, take him, Sif and the Warrior Three nearly a millennium before they started acting as a true team outside of life or death situation.

He’s not really happy to have been proven right, though.

As for Steve Rogers, as he explains while he sips on his beer, things with civilians didn’t go as well as planned.

 

“They keep expecting me to smile like Stark does,” he says when Thor comes back to him after serving the Italian girl her usual apple-derived drink. “Girls come up to me and ask me to sign their underwear, and the other day a man asked me to sign his husband’s cards for him… his _husband_ , Thor! How are two men even getting married?”

“I do not know,” Thor admits. “In Asgard, such thing is usually confined to the battlefield, when men have been missing their wives for too long. I never heard of anyone prolonging such relationships beyond a campaign or two. As for the rest of Vanaheim, well. I heard some queer story about the way soldiers from outside our capital dealt with this.”

“I can imagine,” Steve says, and he sighs into his drink. “Back when I was in the army, these things… it wasn’t done. We didn’t talk about it, and when we found out some guys leaned that way… well. I won’t lie, I’ve used the word fairy a couple of time, too.”

“I am assuming you don’t mean the winged creatures,” Thor says as he dries dishes.

“That’s how we called them,” Steve admits. “Soldiers and civilians alike. And that was about the nicest thing they’d get… I used to know a fella who was like that. He was kind and very polite, but when the men of the neighborhood found out, they beat him bloody and left him to drown in his blood all the same.” He downs his beer in one large gulp, and Thor fills his glass again, putting the refill on his own tab. “I mean, I’m _trying_ to update my thinking, I’m doing my best, I swear! I just wish people would remember I wasn’t brought up like that.”

 

Thor nods, sadly, because what can he say? He is a stranger to those customs, too. Working here at the coffeeshop helps him get a better grasp of what is commonly accepted and what isn’t, and he has made tremendous progress with technology –although to be honest, he still isn’t able to handle a computer on his own. He has been told an apple made much more instinctual product, but he still fails to grasp how an apple could build anything, and he doesn’t dare ask around.

In the end, Steve Rogers and Thor find themselves in the same situation, trying to fit in a mold that was never meant to accommodate people like them.

 

“You should come more often,” Thor says. “I can’t promise that I would be extremely instructive, but we could, at least, help each other in trying to figure this world out.”

 

Not that Thor wants to, but it seems this whole being a mortal thing is taking longer than he thought it would.

 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles, “I think I’d like that.”

 

Thor smiles as the man grins, and he tries not to think about the way Loki beamed when he enlisted him for a punitive excursion against Jötunheim.

 

(He’s not exactly surprised when he fails.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if AO3 isn't your cup of tea for comments, there's always [tumblr](http://fanfanwrites.tumblr.com)


	3. This is the first step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor starts making project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I reread this as best as I could, I will probably go back to it soon to see if I missed anything because I was tired.
> 
> I the meantime, please forgive my inevitable errors and enjoy the new chapter :)

 

**{A year and a half after}**

  
“I think you should be a cop,” Joey says.  
  
Half of his body is buried under the counter because their sink was leaking and Thor may have learned a lot about midgardian technology, but he’s still not able to fix a sink by himself. Joey, apparently, can.  
  
“I don’t think it would be a good idea,” Thor sighs as he passes a tool of some sort along. “I’m not what I used to be anymore. Who taught you to fix sinks?”  
“My grandfather’s boyfriend did. Well one of them. They have a threeway going on –it’s kind of weird, but Dad says he’s never seen his Dad so happy before so I just deal with it.” There’s the sound of water falling and Joey shakes like a horse in the rain, before he adds: “And you know, I think you should be a cop because you’re not what you used to be anymore. I don’t think anybody would be comfortable having the God of Thunder in the NYPD but a super-trained guy with a nice smile could do a lot of good.”  
  
Thor doesn’t know what motivated him to confess his true identity to Joey.  
He just knows that things were a bit strained between them when he came back from the hospital –Joey didn’t seem like he was very happy with the idea that Thor got stabbed protecting him. He thought it was crazy, like Jane. Thor told him who he was in the hope of making him understand and, somehow, since he confessed, they’ve grown closer. He tends to consider Joey like a son. Or no. Not a son, exactly. More like a young cousin, or a nephew of some sort. It’s odd, but it’s good too, so Thor has learned not to question it too much.  
  
“I don’t know. I do not believe my training was the same as what the guardians of this realm are taught.”  
“Nah, it’s probably not.” Joey shrugs and it makes his knees shift. “But you know you way around weapons, I’m sure you’d catch up. Plus it would save you a whole lot of moping around at a job you don’t really like. Your gloom is likely making us lose customer. It’s like a giant cloud over your head, like it’s constantly raining and hailing and—”  
“Thank you,” Thor interrupts, “I believe I understood what you meant. When will you be done with this leak?”  
“Oh I’ve been done with it for the past twenty minutes,” Joey replies easily, “I’m just upgrading the plumbing a little bit. What?” he adds when Thor chuckles.  
“Nothing,” Thor says. “You remind me of someone I knew, who could have become a friend.”  
  
It’s Joey’s turn to chuckle.  
  
“Well, maybe they still can, who knows.” He does his full-bodied shrug again. “Think about the cop thing though. You watch out for people’s safety all the time here anyway. You’d be good at it.”  
  
Thor smiles but says nothing, and goes to take another customer’s order.

 

{ooo}

  
“I think that’s everything.”  
  
Thor watches Jane take a last look at the studio they shared for a little over a year, and his eyes follow the trail of all the things he’s going to miss. The hamburger-shaped landline is gone, along with the small TV set and the stack of physics books in the kitchen. Gone, too, the flannel shirts and the perfumes in the bathroom, including the Dior one. (Jane asked why it interested him so much, but somehow Thor didn’t believe it was a good idea to tell her the fragrance reminded him of his mother.)  
All this he will miss, not because the objects were particularly precious to him –he only has Steve to phone, and he can count the number of time the TV has been used on the fingers of one hand… Thor has been reading a lot more since he became a mortal- but because they mean Jane’s departure. As much as Thor knows himself to be unable to maintain their relationship, he still wishes he didn’t have to lose her completely. He wishes she could stay and remind him—but then, maybe he should forget. Remembering what he used to be brings him nothing but nightmares.  
  
(He still wakes up at night, drenched in sweat, with his back and arms burning and the sensation of barbed wire running through his veins, his mouth open on a scream he can’t release. Sometimes, there is a voice talking in his head, soft and nearly human-like, and then the ghost of a cool towel on his brow, before his eyes snap open to the brown dog-shaped stain and he needs to bury his head in the pillow to try and keep the tears away.  
Aesir don’t cry, Thor.)  
  
On the threshold, Jane looks at him with watery eyes, and then she is pressing against him, arms wrapped around his neck, and her breathing comes out wetter than it should. He lifts her off the ground, and she laughs, half sad and half amused, no doubt remembering their happier days as well as he does.  
(They’re gone now, Thor’s happy days. He doesn’t know why he expected Jane to stay.)  
  
“Take care,” Jane says at last. “Maybe…” she pauses, uncertain. Thor, who stopped to know what was happening in his life from the moment he recognized Fenrir’s fur on that rock, can’t really blame her. “Maybe I’ll see you around. Someday.”  
“Maybe,” Thor concedes, but neither of them truly believes it. Not yet. “Take care, too,” he says.  
  
Jane nods against his cheek, then releases him, and nods stiffly. One step, two, three, and she’s out of the studio. Three more, and she reaches the staircase, heavy suitcase half resting against her hip to avoid falling over. Thor would help, but he knows it wouldn’t be welcomed.  
He’s not supposed to try and make her stay, that he thinks he understands from what some of the girls in the coffee shop told him. But then, he’s not supposed to help her leave, either.  
He wonders what he is supposed to do, in this world where some people want him to act like an Aesir, and some other want him to be a—he doesn’t know what. A different man, with different rules. Jane called it feminism, and he bristled, because he’s not a woman, and everybody knows that.  
  
But then, he knows he’s not really a Man, either.

{ooo}

  
Steve takes him to the midnight mass, on Christmas day.  
Thor sits through the service in silence as he listens to the hymns and remembers the days when he was among the highest divinities that existed. He remembers how it was when Christians started coming in and settled on his people’s lands, how pacific they were at first, and how things went pear shaped a few centuries later. Beside him, Steve is singing, fervor on his face and in his heart, and it feels amazing to Thor that he has managed to become friend with a man who does not believe in his godhood, gone or not.  
A few centuries ago, when Thor could still feel the faith coming to him in waves from the few followers that remained to him, he used to be fairly elitist about it. If a mortal didn’t believe in him or at least his father, he didn’t speak to them, but now look where he is. Steve Rogers is one of those men Thor would have wanted to call his, unwavering faith rolling off him like thick and warm syrup Thor was forced to watch from behind a panel of glass.  
He wonders if he’ll get to feel this again someday.  
  
He doesn’t quite dare to hope for it anymore.

{ooo}

  
On one particularly empty day, when it’s hailing like the sky is going to split and the wind is so strong umbrellas are turning inside out, Steve runs through the door with his hair dripping, sketchbook a soggy mess under his arm. He coughs his way up to the counter, where Thor is trying out his latest try at making decent green tea. It tastes less and less like horse piss now –Thor should know, Fandral and Volstagg tricked him into drinking some when they were young, before Sleipnir’s birth caused Loki to punish every horse joke he heard of. Thor should probably think it is a good thing, that it means he is getting better acquainted with mortal life, but he can’t quite bring himself to believe it –it would require actually being happy about his predicament, and he is not.  
Steve saves him the trouble of pretending, however, when he slumps in his chair and settles his sketchbook in front of him with a weary sigh.  
  
“What is the matter?” Thor asks, for who can Steve talk to if not him? They both have acquaintances outside of each other, and even a few friends, but none who understand their situation. Not truly.  
“Miss Potts came to see me today,” Steve says as Thor goes to prepare his coffee –black and strong, an easy brew. “She wanted to know why I hadn’t renewed the lease on my apartment… it turns out my building belongs to Stark Industries.”  
“And what did you answer?” Thor asks, setting Steve’s coffee in front of him.  
  
He likes to think he learned better than to ask why someone did or did not do something. Loki always seemed to hate it when he did that, but he did not realize how judgmental it might have sounded until the Lady of the Hill asked him why on earth he persisted in a job that was obviously not his calling. He wanted to tell her to go away then, tell her he was only doing his best, that he knew he didn’t have his place here but didn’t know what else to do.  
He tries not to ask why people do things too often now, and when he does, he is careful about the tone he uses. It seems even he can learn diplomacy.  
  
“the truth,” Steve says. “I can’t stand my neighbors anymore. “They’re loud, their music is crap, they’re disrespectful… I’m just tired of having to deal with them.”  
“Do you know where you will go after you leave?” Thor asks.  
“Not really.” Steve shrugs, but it looks defeated more than uncaring. “I have a week to find out though. After that, me and my S.H.I.E.L.D issued furniture will be on the streets.”  
  
It should probably not feel like so much of a surprise that Thor offers his friend to come live with him.  
It is not like he is lacking space, after all, now that Jane has left. The studio is more than large enough for the two of them, and they are both used to live in close quarters with other men. They will only need to come up with some form of separation so they can have their privacy –maybe Thor will need to take Joey on his offer to help him pierce a door to the unused storeroom next to his flat, like the owner suggested.  
Thor wouldn’t have had the means to assume the cost of transformation on his own, let alone the upgraded rent, but between his salary, Steve’s army pension and the subventions they both receive from S.H.I.E.L.D for their services –past or continued- they should be able to pay for everything… and at least this way, Thor would have something more agreeable than silence and emptiness to come home to.

 

{ooo}

  
“This is disgusting,” Joey mutters as he takes his arm out of the plumbing, covered in what Thor can only assume are the remnants of various human and animal rejects.  
  
The smell is foul as well, reminding him of the decaying corpses of a couple of troll he and Loki once found during one of their hunting trip. He does not wish to get too close to it, but Joey is sticking his arm in it already –the least Thor can do is brave the offending smell and help him however he can.  
  
“Urgh, I wish you’d been able to pay someone for that.”  
“Stop complaining Joey. It’s good experience, and you know your grandfather will be happy to hear you’ve made progresses.”  
“Yeah right,” Joey mutters, but he goes back to work nonetheless.  
  
Joey’s father is so different from his son that Thor can’t help but find it amusing.  
Where the son is skinny, all bones and tendons covered in pale skin, his father has a stocky built and dark chocolate-y skin with straight black hair and green eyes. His muscles are bulging under his wife-beater, and there is a burn at the base of his neck that reminds Thor of the runes they use in Asgard.  
  
“We’re almost done with the walls,” Steve says, shaking his hair to get the plaster off it. “Tomorrow we can setup the showers and sink, finish the kitchen, and we’ll finish the painting on Thursday.”  
“And then you can move in,” Joey beams. “I can’t believe Captain America’s going to live right above my workplace!”  
“Just don’t advertize it,” Steve says, his smiles a little easier now than it would have been two weeks ago.  
“Of course not,” Joey promises, “That doesn’t mean I can’t be happy about it.”  
  
Thor smiles at him, surprised again by the affection he feels for this boy, but doesn’t say anything. The day after that, when the two men leave, it’s only Joey who smiles and encourages them. Nir, his father, doesn’t say a word, and it leaves Thor with a bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach that he doesn’t know how to explain to Steve.

{ooo}

  
Steve looks at the paints Thor has selected for the walls of the newly made bedroom-slash studio, which he will be occupying, and it is clear that he wants to say something.  
  
Thor knows, or thinks he knows, what that is. Green and Gold have never been his colors, and that did not change overnight, far from it. But they are the color he wishes to be close to him, and so that is how they paint the walls of his new home, the furniture in the kitchenette. When they are done, he uses a kitchen knife to carve knots into the wood of his bed and around the frame of his door… he is no artist, unlike Steve, but the minute work helps him take his mind of memories he would rather think about.  
  
At some point his hands seem to get a life of their own, the crispy taste of magic tinting the back of his throat as they carve a great serpent in shards of ice on the great wooden crate Thor bought from the flea market a few days ago.  
  
He chooses not to mention this to Steve, preferring to keep the event to himself.

{ooo}

  
Pepper Potts come to their homecoming party, which is really more of a dinner, considering she, Joey and the Hawk’s eyes are the only guests –they invited Joey’s father too, but the boy said Nir wasn’t feeling very well and couldn’t come.  
Thor would rather not ask questions than get an answer he dislikes.

 

**{Two years after}**

  
Thor isn’t sure what it is he did, or if he even did anything, but the fact remains that Sif is starting to spend more time at Ginnungagap. She comes in with the sun in her hair and a smile on her lips every Saturday morning –well, the ones she doesn’t work on, and she tricks Thor into reading the newspapers –two years, and he is only just starting to get involved in the politics of the State, let alone the country.  
  
“You’ve had time to settle,” she says when he asks why she does that. “You have a place to live in, a friend, a job… it is time you looked beyond yourself. And beyond the Avengers, too.”  
“I am not sure I wish to do so,” Thor points out, but Sif merely clicks her tongue at him.  
“I am disappointed by your attitude, Thor,” she says. “What would Loki think of you?”  
“Sif, Loki….”  
“Loki is alive,” Sif insists before Thor has time to finish his sentence, “and it is because of you. He is sane again, and it is because of you. Loki is free, and it is because of you. He may not see it yet, but you are a good man, and you deserve to live, no matter what. I hate to say it, but the Loki who shaved my hair, the Loki who kept annoying us and got us out of more tight spots than we’re willing to admit, this Loki would have wanted you to do your best in this life as you did in everything.”  
“But that Loki is gone,” Thor points out as he slumps over the table they’re sitting at, “and he will never come back again.”  
“The same could be said of his brother,” Sif says, her voice stern, “and of his brother’s companions. None of us will ever be the same. It does not mean we should not be anything at all.”  
“Sif….”  
“Read that paper,” Sif insists. “And while you do so, keep in mind the things you have that others do not.”  
  
She rises from her chair, lose hair swishing against the shoulders of her shirt. She looks just like a midgardian like that, dressed in smart grey pants and high heels, and Thor kind of feels like calling her milady again, despite the fact that she always denied to be a lady. She is one though, Thor thinks. A true noble heart, strong and unafraid, just like Jane, just like Natasha, just like Darcy.  
But Lady does not mean the same on Earth and in Asgard, Thor knows that. He knows Sif hated the role she was supposed to play as a woman, and he knows she was treated as a honorary man after she started training with him –she never looked like a woman, back in Asgard, except for very formal occasions, and even then she was never seen with any kind of jewelry, save maybe a pin in her hair.  
Here, however, Thor has seen Sif wear jewels and refined women’s clothes without problem of any kind, and yet she does not feel different, save maybe for the more relaxed posture she tends to adopt, compared to the way she positioned herself in Asagard. The difference is faint, but Thor still feels it, and he rejoicesfor his friend every time he does.  
  
He’s starting to think maybe it wasn’t Sif who didn’t fit, but Asgard who did not have the proper words for her.

 

{ooo}

  
Loki is spotted having breakfast in the Stark tower.  
It is not much, considering everything that he could be doing already, but to Thor it means the world. Loki is eating by himself again. Loki is doing things. It can only mean that he is getting better, can it? It can only mean he is on the way to a normal life again, and Thor almost weeps when the Hawk’s eye tells him that.  
  
“Well,” the archer says when he notices Thor’s expression, “it’s good to see you smile. Loki should pass little landmarks more often.”  
“I did not think you would rejoice from his recovery,” Thor remarks, and the Hawk’s eye shrugs.  
“I can’t say I’ve got fond memories of our first meeting, but what d’you want me to say? He paid his price. I know you never told me exactly what they did to him up there, but the way I see things, I think that was more than enough. So no, I don’t rejoice that he’s getting better, but it doesn’t bother me either.”  
“I am grateful that you think this way, Clint,” Thor says.  
  
He sees Clint blink, surprised, then shrug the moment away with a gruff nod, as if nothing happened –but Thor, who spent his entire life looking for the more subtle expressions of Loki, still spots the way his lips curve up ever so slightly.  
  
“And by the way,” Clint adds, “it wouldn’t bother me if you did something else than wash plates here. Everybody can tell you don’t like it from miles away.”  
“I do appreciate talking with the customers,” Thor protests.  
“Nooooot the poiiiiiiint!” Joey singsongs as he zooms past their table with a bag of trash –the day is almost over, and since the room is almost empty, he started cleaning up early.  
  
Clint watches him go with eyes enlarged by surprise, and Thor wonders what did it: the turquoise hair, the orange pants or the obnoxious Hulk T-Shirt.  
(Thor, as far as he’s concerned, finds that none of those things is as puzzling on it own as they are when put together.)  
  
“He always like that?” Clint asks, and Thor nods.  
“He wants me to leave the job as well,” Thor sighs. “He says I should try to be a policeman.”  
  
Clint pauses at that, and Thor has to concentrate to avoid shifting in his seat –the amount of nervousness he feels toward people has never stopped to increase since he came to earth. He wonders if this is due to the fact that he was placed in an unknown place, in unknown conditions for an unknown length of time. Or perhaps it only means that he is starting to discover and accept that he can, in fact, be nervous.  
(He remembers a time, so long ago, when he would tell Loki that he did not know nerves, only the thrill of battle, for some do battle and others just do tricks. Oh, how naïve he was then, and how naïve he must be, still, to hope for a redemption he may be unable to reach.)  
He does shift in the end, thought, because he has no idea what else to do with Clint’s expression. Before he live on earth –before a lot more than that- Loki used to say that Odin’s stare was too loud, so loud it was impossible to understand it. Since he had to bear Loki’s magic back to him, Thor has often wondered if Loki meant this in a literal way, or if he was only referring to that state you find yourself in when confronted with too blank features.  
  
“Well,” Clint sighs, I never thought I would agree with a kid in hammer pants, but I think you should try it, too.”  
“Why?” Thor asks. “Why would I do that?”  
“Because contrary to what you seem to think, you can still be useful.”  
  
Thor doesn’t even realize Clint has left bills to pay for his coffee until Joey has to stop a customer from grabbing them from the table.

 

{ooo}

  
“No but really,” Joey sighs, “I said ‘push the button’ not ‘punch the machine’!”  
“For the last time I did not punch this machine of yours! I stumbled.”  
“Oh great,” Joey mumbles, “if that kind of thing happens everytime you stumble we’re going to be in trouble!”  
“It is merely dented,” Thor says.  
“It’s disfigured!” Joey wails, clutching at the shiny central unit, all blinding white and turquoise LEDs, “My baby will never be the same!”  
“Are you going to help me research this application process or not?”  
“And to think I had it custom made,” Joey sniffs.  
  
He is just short of bending down to check the state of his computer when he notices Thor glaring at him, and he sobers down, going about to manipulate the offending machine.  
(He did try teaching Thor how to use the thing, but by this point Thor had already decided computers really weren’t his thing anyway. That, and Joey’s machine -stored in the back of the bar for a reason Thor is not privy to- has a keyboard written in Greek, which Thor does not know how to read.)  
  
Behind them, Steve is trying very hard not to snigger.

 

{ooo}

  
“Does that mean you’re too old for it then?” Joey asks. “I mean you said you were thousands of years old or something, and they say you have to be less than thirty five when you fill the forms for the first time so….”  
“I can read that,” Thor points out. “What worries me most is this note here.”  
  
He points to a smaller part of the screen where a square tells him what he needs to present in order to be eligible for a post as a Policeman.  
  
“I do not even know what a driver’s license is.”  
“You need to get a GPA too,” Steve says from behind his shoulder. “But in order to do that you need a high school diploma, so that means you’ll have to wait for at least four years or so before you can apply for a job.”  
“It is quite alright,” Thor says. “Four of your years is not that long a time.”  
“Maybe when you were a God,” Joey says after an awkward silence has passed. “But it could be a problem now that you are a mortal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [As always, comments and critiques are appreciated <3](http://fanfanwrites.tumblr.com/ask)


	4. In the blink of an eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I which Thor's life seem to have picked up its pace.

{Two years and a half after}

  
  
  


Most of the people in Thor’s class look older than he is.

Men and women who look past the age of retirement, a lot of them colored people, a lot of them speaking with heavily-accented voices. It isn’t what Thor anticipated when Joey said he would find people ‘like him’ at the evening school.

  
  
  


He thought -perhaps naively so- that he would meet men and women who came from other realms too, men and women who grew up away from Midgard and had no need for its education system up until now, but instead he finds himself with the refuse.

Thor knows it is probably uncharitable of him to think so, but what else could he think? These are people who were pushed down and away for so long that they are adults and unable to read, as illiterate as the peasants of Asgard without their knowledge of the earth or basic survival skills.

(What survival skills would accomplish in New York, Thor isn’t sure, but at least it would allow these people to leave for a place where being able to read or solve equations isn’t a requirement of life... if such a place even exists on Midgard anymore, that is.)

  
  
  


Thor stands at the entrance of the room, filled with people who speak languages he doesn’t understand, who have troubles and needs and dreams he doesn’t understand, who know so much more about what they are doing here than he does, and it’s almost enough to make him grab his bag and turn back.

In the end, he can only think of the way Sif and Loki would look at him if he did leave now, and that’s what makes him pick a table on the middle row, purposefully seating away from the window, and take his notebook out.

  
  
  


On his left, a woman who looks like she had several children and raised them all well smiles at him, and Thor wonders if he’ll ever be able to return that smile.

  
  
  


{ooo}

  
  
  


“No, the X doesn’t go there, you already know the result, it’s twenty seven. Now, in order to find what the missing number is you have to --hey!”

  
  
  


Joey’s protest sounds indignant, but Thor can’t quite bring himself to care about it just yet, and makes certain his homework is properly hidden under the counter. September is only just starting, and he has been going to his classes for about two weeks now... he’s making progress, and that fills him with just enough pride to balance out his frustration at himself, but it doesn’t mean he wants Jane to see him work on it.

  
  
  


Jane looks... good.

She looks rested and happy, even though being here seems to set her on edge, which Thor can’t blame her for anyway, not with the way his palms feel like they’re burning. He hasn’t seen Jane in over six months now, hasn’t spoken to her or had any direct news, and the thought of her being here now makes his heart race with the fear of maybe damaging their fragile relationship beyond repair.

Thor has lost too many things to be able to deal with losing Jane entirely.

  
  
  


He watches her walk to the counter, flannel shirt almost hidden in a man’s vest twice her size, hair slightly mussed and eyes skittering from one place to the other. There is shyness in her smile, yes, but also an odd kind of confidence and knowledge that can come only from great intimacy -it reminds Thor of Loki, but he pushes the thought away, sensing now is not the time to worry about the brother he once had.

  
  
  


“Can I have a tall black coffee, please?”

  
  
  


Thor nods at Jane’s request, ridiculously grateful for the task, small as it is, and Joey elects to walk away from them in order to take care of the few customers still present at this hour, mumbling something about terrible flirting and overgrown teenagers, which Thor elects not to comment on.

  
  
  


“It sounds like he talks more than he used to,” Jane remarks, but Thor shakes his head:

“He is merely louder. It is not always a good thing.”

  
  
  


Jane chuckles, remembering the awkward gangly teen Joey was when Thor started working and living here... sometimes, Thor himself looks back on these days and wonders where time has flown, wonders if this is what being a parent entails: looking at your boy and wondering how he came to be so big and different in so short a time.

Joey is not Thor’s son, of course, and Nir would probably bite him to death if Thor dared to even imply as much -for all that Nir is not an especially pleasing person, he is fiercely protective of his only child, and Thor can’t find it in himself to resent that. Not when so much of his regrets pertain to his own inability to realize he needed to be present for his brother.

  
  
  


On the other side of the counter, Jane has fallen silent, too, observing him carefully, but Thor doesn’t see any judgment there, so it doesn’t make him squirm. Instead, he meets her gaze evenly, and they look at each other for a while, silent and unmoving as the Greek statues Thor once saw in a Museum.

Eventually, Thor does break the silence by asking:

  
  
  


“How have you been?” It’s a quiet question in a quiet place, and Jane replies equally softly:

“Good, thank you.” She takes a sip of her coffee, looks at her mug and smiles: “You make good coffee now. I mean, it wasn’t horrible in the first place just....”

“Fairly bad,” Thor nods with a smile playing on his lips, “I know. I am trying to master tea, now. I believe I have gone from vomit-inducing to plain disgusting, which I chose to consider progress.”

  
  
  


The remark makes Jane laugh, just as Thor knew it would, but it still feels satisfying to see the tension ease away from her shoulder and neck, vanishing in the room above their heads and bringing the conversation to a much friendlier mood.

  
  
  


“I’ve been working,” she says once she stops, her smile significantly broader, “The rainbow bri--I mean, the Bifrost,” she corrects herself, then sighs: “My colleagues keep thinking I’m not serious about my work when I call it a rainbow bridge.”

“Then they are halfwits,” Thor decides. “Never have I met someone as passionate as you about their tasks.” He answers Jane’s smile in kind, then amends: “Except, now that I think about it, the lady Sif. You two are more similar than would appear at first glance.”

“Well,” Jane shrugs, “we do both work predominantly male fields. Women who want to do that have to show they have teeth.”

“It shouldn’t be so,” Thor frowns, and that seems to make Jane pause.

“Well,” she says after a moment, “You truly did change.”

  
  
  


Thor nods, because he knows what she means.

It isn’t that he used not to take Jane or Sif seriously -he always recognized they competences and reliability... he is even fairly certain this acceptance of his was the only reason Sif decided to befriend him at first.

He can’t deny, though, that he never used to think of other men’s attitude as abnormal. Disrespectful, yes, when they commented on women’s handicaps to Sif or Jane’s face... but even then, he thought they were being disrespectful to exceptional women, who trumped the cards.

It would be a lie to say that he has let go of all his previous prejudices, but it appears Joey’s explanations and discussions of sexism did end up sticking with him, after all. Thor thinks it is probably a good thing.

  
  
  


In the end, Jane tells Thor of her various misadventures in S.H.I.E.L.D and before long, they are laughing together as they trade workplace stories. It feels good to have her here again, to see her smile and laugh and to hear her talking about her work -Thor never quite realized how much he missed that part of their relationship. Their coupling was good, of course, but it’s her friendship he missed the most, and she smiles when he tells her as much.

  
  
  


“I’m only here for a couple of days,” she tells him, “and I don’t have a lot of free time, but we could grab dinner tomorrow night, if you want?”

“I cannot go out tomorrow,” Thor answers, nose scrunching in disappointment, “We are having a farewell dinner for Hogun and Fandral, for they will be leaving Midgard within the month. You are welcome to join us, however, if you are not afraid of my cooking. I am confident you would like my friends.”

  
  
  


It doesn’t take long for Jane to consider the offer and agree, stating that if things go wrong, she can always go back to New Mexico and pretend nothing happened. Thor thinks the logic is sound, and they jest about it for a while until, without knowing how or why, Thor tells her about his project to enter the police forces.

  
  
  


“I thought you didn’t want to settle here,” Jane asks, looking visibly puzzled, “You said you were only waiting.”

“I know,” Thor agrees, “But I suppose, with a little help, I finally figured I didn’t have to feel miserable while I waited.”

  
  
  


The look on Jane’s face is oddly close to pride, and it makes Thor’s cheek ache with how hard he smiles.

  
  
  


{ooo}

  
  
  


Loki starts going out for walks.

Thor, of course, only learns about it in an indirect fashion, namely Pepper, who came to their dinner as Steve’s guest. It isn’t a big thing for most of the world, but Thor has been waiting for that moment for nearly three years now, and it feels both very soon and long overdue. Loki, he guesses, was always stronger than what he looked, but also more fragile, like iron or glass, holding fast until the final hit broke him. Hopefully, if he is going out again, it means he was not permanently broken.

  
  
  


“I can show you the videos next time, if you want,” Pepper tells him.

  
  
  


Steve, who is engrossed in a conversation about the colorization process of space photographs with Jane and Volstagg, doesn’t react. As for Thor, he honestly considers the offer, for he does feels curious about Loki’s state of mind, and he would like to know how his un-brother is faring... but in the end, he finds himself declining.

  
  
  


“I am afraid I have disregarded my brother’s wishes more than often enough for several lifetimes.”

  
  
  


Or, at least, whatever is left of his.

  
  
  


“You’re not responsible for Loki’s actions though,” Pepper point out. “He made his choices. The consequences are horrible, yes, but you didn’t force him to go through with any of it.”

  
  
  


Thor nods, sad and tired.

  
  
  


“I know this,” he tells Pepper, “And I appreciate your sentiment, but I cannot deny that by my actions -and in several cases, my inaction- I have contributed to bring him towards that path. ever before did I consider this, but the truth of the matter is, I believe, that I did have a hand in Loki’ fate, and it would be ill thought of me to ignore it once more.”

  
  
  


On the other side of the table, Thor can see Sif looking at him as if she never saw him before, as if he were an entirely new person... and maybe he is, how could he judge? He thinks -hopes- he is changing for the better, but he cannot be certain and the sudden attention makes him feel unexpectedly nervous, nearly squirming under Sif and the Warrior Three’s intense observation.

  
  
  


“Why, Thor,” Sif breathes without taking her eyes off him, “I knew Midgard had changed your perspective, but I never thought it would go so far, nor so fast.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side and, with a smile, she adds: “I can hardly recognize you at all.”

  
  
  


She seems to like what she sees though, and Fandral is approving with a vigorous nod.

  
  
  


Thor knows better than remain unaffected when these two agree, and he feels abruptly grateful for the beard hiding his blush.

  
  
  


{Three years after}

  
  
  


There are moments -not all of them, of course, but some- when Thor’s life feels like a... a collage. Or a photo album, perhaps. Several images jumble together to form an uneven string of memories summing up his life more neatly than words ever could.

  
  
  


Now is probably one of these moments.

Thor is running on the pavement, Joey beside him, late-winter-grey streets dashing around them too fast for him to see where they’re going. His lungs are burning, his legs are heavy, but his head is light, and even Nir’s angry shouts can’t pull him down.

  
  
  


He knows they started running because of the impressive dent Thor made in the front of the car after a mishap with the gas pedal, but it doesn’t feel like it anymore. He feels tall, and strong, and free, feels like he’s going to run forever and never mind... he’s been running long enough, now, that he reached past exhaustion and into some deep reserve he didn’t know he had that makes him want to scream as he pushes himself harder.

  
  
  


“Come on Joey!” he calls to the teenager holding back ahead of him, “I’ll race you to the shop!”

  
  
  
  


Thor does end up running back to his apartment, and even the fact that Steve finds him heaving his gut under Joey’s cautious care can’t take the exhilaration out of him.

  
  
  


{ooo}

  
  
  


“Are you sure you’re allowed to drive?”

  
  
  


Darcy’s eyebrows are so high on her forehead they almost disappear into her hat, but Thor doesn’t begrudge her, mainly because Sif is still looking a little pale from the emergency swaying Thor had to do in order to dodge a coyote a few miles back.

(Also there might be imprints the shape of Volstagg’s hands in the backdoor handle, but Thor figures he can attribute it to Volstagg’s hatred of anything faster than a horse and add the costs to his slowly-growing debt to Nir.)

  
  
  


It is a most telling sign of Sif’s loyalty, though, that she manages to make herself glare at Darcy for her comment, even though Thor knows he still has much to learn about proper car driving -why Nir let him use the vehicle before he got his license, Thor doesn’t know, but he is not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not now that Jane is in front of him, smiling as bright as she used to smile when he told her about the Bifrost.

  
  
  


“I should scold you for that,” she says, “But I’m really too happy to see you all here.”

  
  
  


Thor grins back at her and hugs her close to his heart, before bending to greet Darcy.

  
  
  


“I don’t suppose your attractive elf of a friend is hiding in the trunk?” Darcy asks, and she pretends to be terribly disappointed when Thor shakes his head.

“I’ll be sure to tell him you missed him,” Sif says, rolling her eyes, “With any luck it will attract his mother’s attention and put some sense in his head.”

“Now that is a cruel jape,” Volstagg laughs from where he was talking to Jane. “A well deserved one, but cruel nonetheless. Now come inside, the lady Jane has prepared some Pain Perdu for our arrival and I would hate to keep it waiting.”

“You’re going to love it,” Jane promises as they spin on their heels to enter her apartment building, “I’m the queen of Pain Perdu.”

  
  
  


From the corner of his eyes, Thor can see Sif look agape at Volstagg and Jane’s easy banter, to which Thor can only reply with a puzzled shrug: what business of his is it if Volstagg should chose to share his recipes with Jane? At most, Thor supposes he is allowed to be surprised, if only because he and Jane used to survive mainly on takeout lunches and salads.

Aside from that, well, he is merely -selfishly- glad that Volstagg is forming ties that might keep him close to Midgard for a while longer.

  
  
  


{ooo}

  
  
  


“It looks much larger than your previous location,” Thor remarks the next day when Jane takes them all to visit her new workplace.

“It is!” She answers with enthusiasm, gesturing to the open space with the hand that is not currently in Volstagg’s arm, “I love it. Much more space to hold my instruments, and I even have a real camping bed now instead of a bunch of blanket. Darcy went nuts when she saw it, but then that’s about the time we saw Loki on the news so I’m not sure it was all joy.”

  
  
  


Thor has nothing to offer but an apologetic smile.

What can he say? This period of Loki’s life was especially troubled, and Thor wasn’t much more brilliant at the time. He tries not to dwell too much on it, but the fact remains that Loki nearly destroyed one world and set out to conquer another, and even though Thor stopped him... well, he can’t honestly say he did that solely out of concern for Midgard’s safety.

There was a part of him that felt pride at being sent to retrieve Loki, but most of his being was focused on getting his brother back and pretend nothing had happened. It took him a long time to realize how selfish and self-centered of him that desire was.

  
  
  


He still isn’t sure what the right attitude would have been, though, and that scares him more than anything else, save perhaps the thought that there was no good attitude to adopt, and none of this could have been averted. It doesn’t help that Thor has yet to figure out how much his behavior toward Loki pushed him on the path of war and gratuitous murder.

  
  
  


It would all be easier if he could take a page out of the Humans’ mythology books and weight his own heart on a scale to see if it is lighter than a feather or not.

  
  
  


“Thor?” Sif asks, a hand coming to rest on Thor’s shoulder, “Are you well?”

  
  
  


Thor knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that Sif knows he is not, but he still smiles and pretends to the contrary.

It is a strange feeling, discussing Loki and what he did in New York, after so many things have happened. Thor sort of feels like there are several Loki waging war against one another in his head.

A small one, always following him, always looking up to him, with a grin on his lips and admiration in his eyes... an older one, not quite an adult yet but no longer a child, mischievous and irritated and moody at time, but always ready to enter a friendly match, a competition of some sort, to play more-or-less inoffensive pranks on others.

  
  
  


Thor’s throat clenches when he thinks of adult Loki.

He can’t remember what his brother looked like before Jotunheim and the fight that sent him spiraling down into the void, can’t remember Loki’s face without the unhinged grin of a madman on a killing spree, the grin of someone who is long past caring, long past bowing to the rules.

There was madness in his brother’s eyes, yes, but pain and despair as well, and Thor doesn’t know what to do with that any better than he did before. It would be easier to know, of course, if he could just ask Loki himself, but that is unfortunately not an option.

  
  
  


“I don’t think Loki is a threat anymore,” Thor says in the end, trying to summon a reassuring smile for Jane.

  
  
  


He does not miss the way Sif’s gaze on him sharpens, or how Volstagg chew on his lower lip, but they both keep silent, probably sensing now is not the time to confront Thor on his recent habit to call Loki by his name instead of ‘my brother’.

Thor feels grateful for their silence, as he doesn’t think he is ready to define the reasons of this change just yet.

  
  
  


Still, Sif’s hand doesn’t leave his shoulder right away, and he finds himself squeezing it before he can think better of it... Sif merely nods, and they move on.

  
  
  


(Thor can’t help but hope he’ll find the answers to his questions soon, though.)

  
  
  


{ooo}

  
  
  


“I haven’t seen Volstagg this enthusiastic about a new friend in centuries,” Sif remarks on the third day of their stay.

  
  
  


Jane and Volstagg are at the kitchen counter and bickering on the proper dose of salt to put in pasta water, and Thor is fairly certain the only reason they haven’t started a tickle fight just yet is because of the boiling water next to them, and the fact that Jane is, indeed, human, and highly vulnerable to it... Volstagg would get burned as well, of course, but Thor knows from experience that Asgardians can handle boiling water rather easily.

  
  
  


Darcy is sitting in the sofa on the opposite side of the room and watches the two chefs of the day with increasingly long rolls of her eyes, which prompts Thor to lean toward Sif and whisper:

  
  
  


“I do not believe we are the only ones who think they are being rather endearing.”

“I think she finds them annoying,” Sif corrects. “I don’t see why.”

  
  
  


Thor does see.

At least, he thinks he does. Midgardians they... they don’t live very long. It is perfectly normal for Asgardian courting to spread over several years, sometimes decades for the old fashioned fellows, but on Midgard things to move much more quickly. Thor himself experienced that after all, didn’t he?

He has no idea where his friends are going with this bickering of theirs, and so long as the destination is not heartbreak, he cannot honestly say that he minds them growing closer. He does, however, sense that whatever is building between Jane and Volstagg is building a lot more slowly than things grew between the astrophysicist and himself, and he thinks it is probably a good thing.

  
  
  


Next to him, Sif is rolling her eyes at Darcy, and she elbows him in the ribs when he gestures for her to leave the girl alone.

  
  
  


Thor snorts.

  
  
  


{ooo}

  
  
  


They have found how to open the hood of Nir’s car, and Thor is beginning to wonder if, maybe, they’re having a tad too much fun with it.

Sif is standing in her seat, hair spilling out behind her, laughter so unrestrained Thor has no trouble hearing it even through the roof and the wind caused by their speed.

  
  


behind them, Volstagg is laughing too, and Thor grins when Sif lets out a loud, delighted whoop of triumph as they rush under an empty tunnel, just far enough above the speed limit to make the adventure truly exciting.

  
  


Thor pushes the buttons of the radio and chuckles when the first notes of Born to be alive fill the car.

  
  


{Four years after}

  
  


So it’s not the first time Thor decides to leave Steve and Pepper alone at the apartment.

  
  


It’s not that he’s particularly embarrassed by their presence next door or the knowledge that they’re having fun of the adult and carnal variety -they have been together for a little over two years now, and it would seem almost worrying if nothing happened in their bedchambers- but he couldn’t refuse Pepper’s plea when she asked him to leave so she could be alone with Steve for her ‘flat proposal’.

  
  


It is, however, the first time Thor goes to Sif’s apartment instead of a hotel, and he isn’t sure why. They grew closer in the past year, that much is true, but he never could bring himself to visit her alone at night up until now, wary of the way it could have affected her reputation... of course, now that they seem to be bent on staying in Midgard for several more decades, there isn’t much of a reputation to think of anymore, but Thor guesses he needed time to properly internalize that fact.

Which is why he’s just spent ten minutes hesitating in front of Sif’s door, pondering the pros and cons of knocking, until he hears her voice crossing through the metal:

  
  


“You are aware that I can hear you, right?”

  
  


The door opens to reveal Sif in a red and white jersey and black boxer shorts which, at first, nearly make Thor change his mind and leave.

Sif, however, looks at him with a single, challenging raise of her eyebrows and he decides, right then and there, that he will not let himself be intimidated out of a fun night by some skin.

  
  


Beside -and it feels strange, somehow, to think this, even though it is true- Thor cannot say that the sight of Sif in this attire is displeasing... it suits her, really. It makes her look more approachable than her usual clothes, which is certainly the point, but knowing he is allowed to see Sif unguarded fills Thor with an odd kind of pride mixed with childish glee.

  
  


“I suppose you know why I am here,” Thor tells his friend, a sheepish smile on his lips.

“You don’t,” Sif confirms, gesturing him inside, “Though I think Steve probably should get used to you being in the next room when the Lady Pepper makes him try new positions in their coupling.”

  
  


Thor laughs: that, he knows, won’t happen for quite some time yet, if it ever does. If Steve was the kind of person who didn’t mind being heard while having sex, he would have stopped turning red at the breakfast table a long time ago.

  
  


“I don’t think he will,” he shrugs, following Sif, “Though if he accepts Pepper’s offer to live with her, I suppose that won’t be a problem for very much longer.”

  
  


They have reached Sif’s kitchen by then, most importantly the freezer, where Thor knows she keeps what she needs to survive... Sif has made it a matter of principle to never learn how to cook anything beyond skewered rabbits on hunts, and then only so she would be sure to survive in case she was stranded alone in the wild.

Many a man of Asgard refused to believe this, of course, but Thor, who has been on more adventures than he can count with her, knows it is true. He also knows the reason she never wanted to learn to cook was because she was always worried it would mean opening the door to other so-called ‘female’ tasks, and thus allowing herself to be cast back in the passive role of an ordinary woman.

  
  


There was no room, on Asgard, for the middle ground she has found here. Thor did not mind it at the time, had never thought it could even be considered a bad thing, but the four years he spent on earth and the way they changed Sif have convinced him having some leeway makes people happier.

He’s fairly certain Sif approves of his newfound position.

  
  


“Does frozen lasagna bother you?” Sif asks, “I need to go out for groceries soon... Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing,” Thor tells her, sobering down, “I was merely amused by how far we have changed is all. Volstagg has never cooked half so much as he does now that he is in New Mexico and feeding Jane -she swears he is preparing her to be eaten- and I would never have believed it was even possible for you to consider going out to buy your own food.”

“Nor would I have believed it possible that you wouldn’t make fun of me for it.”

  
  


There is a pause then, comfortable and maybe a little proud, too, but mostly just happy, until Sif sighs.

  
  


“I’m getting tired of frozen meals though... Do you think you could show me how to cook?”

  
  


Thor doesn’t realize it on the spot, but the fact that he doesn’t even think of teasing Sif about her request is probably one of the dozen tiny milestones he will never have time to commemorate properly.

  
  


(When he thinks back on it, it makes him smile.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
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**Author's Note:**

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